


The Thirteenth Doctor

by Interstella



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Regeneration, Wholock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-12 14:23:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interstella/pseuds/Interstella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thirteenth regeneration went wrong. His body writhed as it redeveloped, the pain increased, gripped at him until he was doubled over. Something was wrong. He knew it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thirteenth Doctor

The thirteenth regeneration went wrong. His body writhed as it redeveloped, the pain increased, gripped at him until he was doubled over. Something was wrong. He knew it. When he opened his eyes, he was glad that his vision wasn't black. Bright and vibrant, but the distance was lacking. Blue eyes then.

Slowly, he stood, his hands gripping at his chest as he struggled for breath. His lungs were there but… one heart.

Pausing for a moment he spread his arms, trying to maintain equilibrium. His height wasn't much different, his eyes still sought out the same spots in front of him as he managed to keep his balance.

But only one heart. What was the significance of that? There was something prodding at his mind, repeatedly pushing, trying to get heard.

Hands! Yes, he has two! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Yes. Ten fingers! That was a relief. He reached up to feel his face. High cheek bones - nothing new. Nose, big, but not as big as it once was. Ears… laying flat. A long, slender hand patted tightly curled hair and pulled a little down before his blue eyes.

"Still not a ginger." He said with a sigh, taking note of the deeper voice.

"Only one heart… I wonder why…" Well… that was strange. Perhaps he should… Should…

Why was it so hard to think? His mind was sluggish, as if putting two and two together was no longer so simple. What was it, four, six?

"No! Oh no! This isn't good." He said to himself, finally understanding.

This was thirteen. A Time Lord was only granted thirteen regenerations. This was his last. His single beating heart only told him that he was correct. He couldn't regenerate any more. He couldn't… Slowly, his mind would forget who he was. He would slowly become someone else, immerse himself in this world… His Tardis would die, would become smaller on the inside…

Those slender fingers clutched at his head as he barrelled his way out of the phone box, his newly formed eyes darting from side to side, taking in as much as he could in a vein hope of remembering something. Anything.

The last thing he sees before the doors close and he falls is a book lay upon the floor.

Sometime later, those clear eyes blink open and he looks around. He's somewhere else now. A man is leaning over him and he frowns.

"Who are you?" He asks the man above him as he sits up.

"My name's Mycroft. I found you lay on the pavement." The man helps him stay upright. "Do you know who you are?" He asked.

A quick shake of his head is followed by quiet words. "Only that my name is Sherlock."

"Well then." Mycroft said slowly, "Until you feel better, you're welcome to stay here."

– – –


End file.
